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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29813154">Penance in the Poppy Fields</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cococape/pseuds/cococape'>cococape</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>God AU [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Gods &amp; Goddesses, Angst with a Happy Ending, Family Dynamics, Gen, Platonic Relationships, Post-War, Romanticization of War, SBI family dynamics, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade are Siblings, sbi, without philza</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 19:00:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,394</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29813154</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cococape/pseuds/cococape</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The War god Techno wanders his poppy fields and begins remembering the various people whom he's encountered in his lifetime.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Technoblade &amp; TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>God AU [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2157279</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>92</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Archivists Font Challenge</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Penance in the Poppy Fields</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cant_reach_the_countertop/gifts">Cant_reach_the_countertop</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Helvetica is a nice font, ngl. Kinda understand why you don't like it though.</p><p>The font used: Helvetica Neue.</p><p>The prompt: If I had a flower for every time I thought of you, I could walk in my garden forever</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There are reasons that humans are made to forget. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There are reasons they are made to walk on the cobblestones as the memories of their past slowly fade away. Lost friends dissolving into dust and fog, the sound of soft snow under light footsteps becoming nothing more than a distant dream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There are reasons that they greet those ancient remnants like lost lovers, and call it ‘nostalgia’.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps there are reasons — The god of war mused, walking betwixt a field of poppies — as there are reasons for why the deities hold theirs forevermore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could still remember the first gunshots of every battle that marked each land as his own, the cries that echoed through the air with every first blood drawn. He could feel the roar of every tank that had ever run over his sacred earth, just as he could feel the thousands of fallen horses that had galloped in their place only centuries before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could remember each and every soldier who’d ever seen him in the peak of conflict, who’d come to him and prayed to him in times of great need. He could see in his mind’s eye every instance that he’d failed them, when he watched empires fall and kingdoms topple, only for others to rise up in their wake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every step he took among the path within the poppies seemed to leave them brighter behind him, every brush of his fingertips over their delicate petals bringing a shine to the flower, one that didn’t seem to be there before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And with every ruby kiss came another bright memory, of another fight lost, another future toppled to be replaced by something else. Another fallen father, brother, friend by his hands, their death no worthier than if he ran them all through with a blade himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And as War itself, as the deity for which these flowers bowed and glowed and </span>
  <em>
    <span>lived</span>
  </em>
  <span>, perhaps he had to accept that as true. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smell fell over him, their perfume so sickly sweet, yet more freeing than the dusty grey fog in which he lived in for so long. The god closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment of peace in a field of his dead, a mere second in the scale of time, but in the present felt almost infinite in its eternity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He let himself stay in the hands of all the souls he had touched. All the mortals whom he’s affected and afflicted, whose last breaths cursed his name.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Were the children among them?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes flew open as the cool autumn breeze blew by, the thought an impossible nightmare he hated to consider.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Were they here somewhere, among the crimson fields? If he searched for them, would he eventually find the vivid scene of the blond and the brunet, of the home they’ve made amongst themselves? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Would he see the unusual place in which they’ve made their abode, so far and out of his domain? Would he find a memory to be plucked, so freshly bloomed as if grown only just yesterday?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of the gods with the duo of mortal boys who dared call themselves men, friends closer to brothers than even War and Love with their link of breath and blood. Creating from nothing but dust and fluids a confectionary symbol of his other, one that the god had never seen or experienced before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And yet, with his confidence so contagious, War couldn’t help but believe the words that left the mouth of his equal;</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Techno, I believe I understand the methods in which the mortals manifest their ‘cookies’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then understanding that the realm of romance was within his brother’s domain, Techno allowed himself to be withdrawn to the side as he watched the immortal begin to decimate the medium in which he worked, summoning ash and smoke as easily as sparks brought forth a flame. And when what left the heated box was left blackened and viscous, uncooked with bitter fumes, it was the dark haired child by the name of Tubbo who became their guide, teaching Techno the ways in which to combine and create the baker’s treats as the younger Tommy berated and bullied the gods with more confidence than even a town of a thousand could muster against them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a memory that tore through his visions of scarlet blades and the infinity of sorrow his occupation brought him, more vividly than the thoughts that remained as beautiful and pristine in the way that even time could not be dared to touch. It was a moment imbued into himself, as vital to him as a heart to a man, or mind to any matter that existed within the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fear spiked through the creature who’d naught but felt fear in a million ages. Worry filled his veins for the two out of billions he would call insignificant, who caught his attention through the tricks left unearthed since the dawn of time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Millions had died under his watchful gaze, and millions more will follow as time makes another round of the clock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So why should he feel such care for the things that are temporary? Why should his hands so desperately reach and grasp and graze the soft hands of the spirits that remained, forever tied to him and the land? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why did he find himself waiting with the dread that sat in his chest, for the familiar laugh to pierce high in the air and the evergreen of pines to dance across his vision in the form of cloth? For the chastise to come to him, for the young faces of mortals incapable of perceiving how small they were in the grand scale of his world to turn to him — one blond, the other brunet — smiles so impossibly bright on their faces as if their lives were not so short, a blink of an eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And why did he himself — Techno, god of all Wars and all Travel — watch them like they were closer to stars, bright and powerful and explosive in power? Why did he wait for them and care for them, in a way such that he might expect their light to die loud like a supernova, rather than quietly back into the night sky?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew it didn’t matter. He knew the fates would frown upon him, knew his mothers and fathers before him would scowl in disdain at his interference and meddling in mortal lives. But to him — and perhaps to his twin Wilbur too — </span>
  <em>
    <span>they</span>
  </em>
  <span> mattered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They mattered enough that Techno would search through every flower in the garden of his dead until he found them, until he could hold them, protect them, and keep them safe even as they followed in the footsteps of death herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He may watch over the souls of those who’d fallen for him. But he would be damned if those boys ever came to harm — both in this world, and beyond.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was then when something sharp jolted him from his reverie, a shock that drove the sunlit spear into his hands, bright and warm as the summertime air, light made physical in the palm of his hand. Panic flowed through him strong like a river, flooding the world he once knew in a flash of white, a feeling so unfamiliar to him in all his years wandering this mortal plain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hand reached into the pouch of his cloak, the warm fabric rubbing against the skin of his wrists as he pulled the strange black glass out from within. The power of the artifact, bathed his face in its blinding unnatural light as the object screamed and writhed in his palm, like a strange animal in pain… yet not quite.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His thumb hovered over the green so impossibly bright, before letting it rest on the screen, watching with an unending fascination as the screen changed in the blink of an eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The strange object suddenly went limp in his hands, replaced by a quiet, tinny voice so familiar. A voice that he’d never forget, even if his divinity was taken away. A voice he would always hear laughing amongst the battles he’d observe, from a grin burned deep into the way he saw the world’s disarray.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Techno!”</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The god fumbled with the device in his hands as relief bathed him as an electric shock to his body, as he finally brought it up to his ear with one hand while uncoiling the strange string of his fabric coat from his other, wishing to trade it for his soft and warm cloak of ages earlier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I am the one known as Techno, Overseer—”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Techno...”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The god sighed, the corner of his lip turning up despite himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is I, Techno,” The words felt like clay on his lips, and yet he willed himself to ignore it. “What is it that you need?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a pause, where the wind seeped in through the spaces between the clouds, and brushed the heads of the poppies around him, making them rustle in their eternal screams.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that was when the words so feared, so defeating, left the voice box of the tinny machine and entered the mind of the god already so wounded and weak, already on his knees in agony;</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Big man, I’m in deep trouble.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno could feel his limbs stiffen in response, time slowing to a halt as the wind seemed to freeze all things in midair, as the poppies ceased to sway, all tilted in question, seemingly awaiting his command. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What issues have arisen for these two fragile creatures of the Earth, so young and able to die? What pain must they be experiencing, what sorrows have they come upon in their lifetimes so short and sweet? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The god’s fingers tightened around the metal, going white as he began to blind himself in his worry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a blink, the ground shifted from the soft tickling of grass around his ankles to solid wood panels underneath his feet. The world so blue in its expanse of sky had gone finite in its infinity, walled off by a ceiling of mountains falling from above. The cool air of the world that once brushed his cheeks now stung harshly as it blew out from mortal machinations, bringing his surroundings to a temperature where he couldn’t help but grit his teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An ever-expanding expanse of space, seldom an issue for the god of travel, manipulator of all distance both in this world and the next.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And before him — sat on stools by counters of stone — were the strange mortals he’d not care for if not for their appearance so recognizable to him from so far away. The boys who had tamed deities who once did not hesitate to burn their colonies like ants so long ago, who observe mortal self destruction with both boredom and fascination, with both a need to fulfil a duty and a wonder of the inner workings of human nature.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did you need me for in such urgency?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>How could his voice sound so regal, and yet so small from the device left in the mortal’s hands?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>important, Techno!” Tubbo’s voice grappled the edge of panic as Tommy let his phone drop from his ear, inviting the god to do the same with stiff movements. “So important that it really couldn’t wait!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The god found his eyes meeting his twin’s, Wilbur leaning against the counter in his equally ridiculous clothes of modernity. Crumbs dusted his sweater — bright as sunflowers — as he shoved the last piece of cookie into his mouth with a look of innocent mischief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A question passed through the air by the tilt of the head from the battle-worn prince to his love-longing equal, a language that needed no sound but time, understanding, and a brotherly bond. And when what he received in response was a smirk and another hand grasping from the pastry plate, Techno could feel his blood run cold with dread and distrust, one that could only be expected from the toyer of hearts and manipulator of minds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was it Ambition — their cousin — coming to greet another — hurt another — to send a message to War? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or perhaps it was a visit from a god more powerful, perhaps they had wronged his brethren, perhaps this was a final farewell before a trip to somewhere where he could not follow, a punishment for a crime so unforgivable—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A series of aggressive taps on the table woke the god once more, the blond annoyed at his loss of awareness, the sound like a rope to pull the immortal back from the cliff’s edge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello?” Tommy’s voice carried throughout the room with the impatience of a hungry predator in the wild of the bushes and the trees. Was it just his sheer demeanor or Wilbur that made his words louder, like a boom of a thunderclap in a field of calm? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Techno, are you listening?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, Yes— Yeah,” He stammered, trying to reclaim composure. “I am— </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m...</span>
  </em>
  <span> listening. What is it that you want, Tommy, Tubbo?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two mortals glanced at each other, before Tommy finally seized a parchment from its place before them, presenting it to Techno with more violence than most conflicts War overseen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Puzzled, he approached closer, ignoring the amused stifled laughter from the god of Love. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quizzically, he examined the small uniform black words, aware of the two boys that watched him with intense intent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell us about the hundred year war.” The blond demanded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno was so confused that the words had barely registered. And when they were, War was taken aback, the request so unexpected and out of the blue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tilted his head up to meet Wilbur’s eyes, his brother watching as if the world were a theatre and he was its sole observer. And perhaps, when it came to the exciting life of the god of travel, he was right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suppressing a smile, he took a seat in the stool beside the boys, spreading his arms out in welcome. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A welcome to his world, to his domain, of war and conflict and battle over the smallest and most mundane of things and the largest and more trivial of misunderstandings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And as the memories slid before his eyes as easily as water down a waterfall, he took a deep breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was the year 1337…”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please consider following me on twitter @cococapes!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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